


Family Portrait

by Sziondaisy



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Disposable!First Aid, Family Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-16
Updated: 2014-03-16
Packaged: 2018-01-15 23:12:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1322788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sziondaisy/pseuds/Sziondaisy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set in the same universe as A Spark's Worth (but before the main story), although It's fine as a stand alone as well.</p>
<p>Ratchet and Wheeljack have created an unusual family for themselves. First Aid is a disposable medical scanner and Playback is a damaged datastick, they both managed to land in the care of mechs who love them for who they are, despite their flaws.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Family Portrait

**Author's Note:**

> Written as part of a fic trade. 
> 
> It's been so long since I wrote any Ratchet/Wheeljack and I have missed them a lot.

The medical wing functioned as a working hospital that serviced not only the academy students and faculty, but also the surrounding residents and disposables. It served as a cheap alternative to Iacon's actual hospital. The cheap prices encouraged mechs to them and allowed the students the chance to work on all kinds of mechs and injuries.

In theory it was a great idea, but in reality it failed miserably.

The whole thing had never sat right with Ratchet, who viewed his teaching position as a necessary evil rather than an enjoyable occupation. Cut price care for Iacon mechs - rich mechs who could afford the best care at the real hospital - was a kick in the dentals for mechs who really couldn't afford the care they needed. When mechs needed care, they didn't serve themselves up as training aids and so the Academy medical centre was treated more as a disposable repair centre. Although occasionally a mech would seriously injure themselves on campus and be sent to them, Ratchet looked forward to those. It was a nice chance from the constant influx of datasticks. 

The necessary evil in the job was the pay. It was better than he could expect from running his own surgery and it gave him the means to travel to the slums with his students and offer free care to the mechs who would otherwise go without. Wheeljack often did the same, fixing equipment to save the miners some much needed money. Fast repairs on a budget taught all the students how to manage their credits. When most of the students had never struggled for credits, the visit to the slums was a much needed slap in the face. 

Ratchet had his pick of the best students from all over Cybertron - provided they were forged mechs from wealthy families. Even if their grades were poor, rich and forged mechs were considered far superior to even the best cold constructed mech. Every time Ratchet was given a new class it was exactly the same, rich mechs who didn't realise how much time and effort was needed to learn everything and was blissfully unaware of just how hard Ratchet would push them. Rarely did Ratchet find a student who deserved to be there, one who truly deserved his time and effort to teach. 

Students applied from all over Cybertron, all walks of life, some self taught and showing great aptitude, others coming from the best schools. Ratchet had seen the intake files and circled the mechs he wanted to have in his class, students who deserved a chance. A wide range of mechs, not once had he ever turned a mech down because of their background. When he gave his list to the administrations board, his choices had been laughed at. Administration were quick to dismiss any student who didn't fit what they wanted, theirs was an academy of brilliance and according to them brilliance belonged only to forged and wealthy mechs. Soon after, they stopped giving Ratchet a full list and instead gave him a list of mechs who fit their criteria.

It was enough to make Ratchet scream, although he wasn't entirely innocent, the best medics /were/ forged and he believed it. The difference between his thinking and the mechs around him was that he believed everyone should have the chance to prove themselves. Out of the list of twenty mechs he picked, he got two, both forged, both from wealthy families who had 'gifted' the Academy with a large sum of money. The cold constructed mechs were refused admittance to the institute, their rejection letters citing their 'below average' grades as the reason. 

As a mech, Ratchet had become jaded towards the entire system. As a medic, he'd given up caring. 

That was until he was given a new disposable spark-rate monitor to help him in the classroom. From the outset, First Aid was an energetic and eager little mech who wanted to learn. A disposable with more love for learning that most of his class put together. 

It amused him that his best student wasn't a student at all. It was his way of rebelling against the system he hated. 

Teaching First Aid anything outside his designated job of monitoring sparks and general cleaning was dangerous, if he was caught then he'd be suspended and First Aid would be recycled. Then he could be classed as a disposable sympathizer and ostracized from the Academy which would make it hard for him to find another job. 

First Aid was just so eager to learn anything and everything, regardless of whether he could use it or not and Ratchet couldn't help but teach him. As dangerous as it was, First Aid knew to keep his knowledge quiet and act like a disposable while Ratchet had company. 

It had become a regular thing to catch First Aid pouring himself over old medical journals, bookmarking pages he wanted Ratchet to expand on. He wanted to be a brilliant medic and told Ratchet that his dream was to work with him as an equal. His enthusiasm always made Ratchet smile, although sometimes it was a sad one. 

Once his students had left for the day, Ratchet was happy to let First Aid work on his own and that was when the little mech came into his own. In company, First Aid was the obedient slave and played his role perfectly, no one ever suspected that Ratchet treated him as a mech, a student worth teaching. Alone, First Aid was a smart and inventive mech with a knack for finding new ways of doing simple tasks. 

Even if teaching First Aid was a futile task and the chances of him ever being a medic were slim, Ratchet never had the spark to tell him that his dream of being a real medic was just that, a dream, but deep down he knew First Aid was well aware. Not that it ever stopped him working harder. If anything it only spurred him on, urging him to work harder, to learn more and prove once and for all that background meant nothing, the spark was all that mattered. 

From his spot at his desk, Ratchet could see First Aid working, speeding around the ward with a datapad and stylus, marking down supplies and resetting the monitors for the next day. So wrapped up in watching First Aid racing around like a rocket, the sound of his mate's unexpected voice made him jump. 

“He looks good, Ratch," Wheeljack said from the doorway, his optics following the little mech from berth to berth. 

“He's doing great, although he's getting bolder. Twice today I had to stop him from saying anything to one of the students,” Ratchet replied. 

Wheeljack nodded, “he just wants to prove he's smarter than them and I can't blame him for that.” 

“They're not all useless,” Ratchet said quickly, suddenly defensive over his class. They weren't all bad, sure they had their problems but a few were very promising. 

Wheeljack smiled and crossed the room, retracting his faceplate as he leaned down to kiss Ratchet softly. “I know that.” Behind him a datamech scurried across the room, latching onto Wheeljack's hip plating. 

Ratchet smiled and nuzzled his mate as he thumbed the thick scars covering Wheeljack's lower face. Wheeljack purred. The datamech's tight grip grew painful quickly and Wheeljack stepped back, placing a comforting hand on the datamech's head and affectionately stroking it. 

"How about you, PB?" Ratchet asked the datamech, "how are you doing?"

Playback cocked his head at the nickname. Recognition and then nothing as he cycled through the few memories he still had access to in an attempt to place Ratchet's face. Shyly he looked up at Wheeljack and whispered, "who's that?"

"That's Ratchet,” Wheeljack answered, “we live together.”

"We do?"

Ratchet smiled, "you do. First Aid lives with us too."

Playback rubbed his head and made a tiny upset sound, "I don't remember."

Wheeljack picked the little mech up and sat him on his hip, bumping their foreheads together affectionately, "well that's ok, it's why we're here. Ratchet's going to fix you and he's the best medic there is."

The little datamech frowned at that, his visor narrowing, "what happened to Osmosis? He'll be mad if I don't go home to him."

"He...he gave you to me," answered Wheeljack. While it wasn't technically a lie, it was far from the truth. Playback had been abandoned in the medbay, left for scrap after Ratchet had informed Osmosis that he wasn't repairable. Ratchet had no doubt that the poor mech had been on the receiving end of one too many blows, but there was nothing he could do about that. Instead of handing Playback over to the Academy like he was supposed to - which would had ended with Playback being sent to the recycling centre, an outcome that Ratchet would never allow - Wheeljack had been quick to adopt the little mech. 

Playback was in good hands, Wheeljack already had one disposable class mech who lived in his lab. Abandoned by his owner for a newer model, Calc was a bad tempered calculator who had convinced himself that his abandonment was an accident and that his owner was definitely coming back for him. It had been vorns but still Calc waited, he'd made himself a home on a shelf at the back of Wheeljack's lab and never left it. Wheeljack brought him energon once a day and let him stay instead of reporting him. Calc had a good life and was endlessly amusing to Wheeljack. Calc's tongue was acidic and he often critised everything the students did, cutting into their ideas and inventions with words as sharp as a scalpel. If Wheeljack was perfectly honest, he enjoyed the company and Calc's scathing remarks were an endless source of amusement to him. The times he worked late, Calc would sit on his work bench and if he was feeling uncharacteristically nice, help with calculations, but more often than not he sat and critized everything from the calculations to the way Wheeljack held his stylus. 

Like Calc, Playback had become somewhat of a class mascot and it wasn't unknown for the students to become quite attached to Playback and Calc, but then they were hard to hate. 

"Here," Wheelack said as he set Playback down on a berth far from the door, "all you have to do is lay down and the medics work and I'll be right here with you. Do you remember where we're going afterward?"

Playback kept a tight grip on Wheeljack's hand as he slid himself up the berth to lay down. “We're going...umm...no wait, I can get it, don't tell me. We're going somewhere.” His visor narrowed as he scowled, “I can see it in my head but I don't remember what it is.”

First Aid was just finishing up with his duties when Ratchet called him over, swiftly he handed out the last of the energon to the disposable class being kept in overnight and then went to join his family. "PB," he said cheerily, "how are you?"

Playback looked up and pointed excitedly, "I know you don't I?"

With a nod, First Aid climbed up onto the berth and set the datapad down, "I hope so. We recharge together and you always steal the blankets."

It wasn't often that Playback remembered a face that wasn't Wheeljack's, when he did, he always looked proudly up at Wheeljack, giggling when Wheeljack ruffled his head and smiled at him. "I don't remember your name though."

"First Aid, but you call me Aid."

"Aid," Playback repeated, testing it on his tongue, "I think I remember that name."

Ratchet patted the datamech's shoulder and smiled, “hopefully after today you'll remember a lot more.” 

Playback looked surprised, “I will?” His long term memory was fine, but Osmosis' blows had damaged the connectors between short term and long term memory banks. Repairs would never give Playback his full memory back, but they would help and Ratchet was hopeful it would give him a better quality of life. 

Wheeljack held Playback's hand for reassurance while the other two worked, scanning and uploading repair patches. 

“I know where, we're going,” Playback shouted excitedly, “we're going to see the...the..the bangy things.” 

Ratchet chuckled, “the fireworks, yes.” 

It was the yearly festival for Primus and although they couldn't get close to the floats – a strict no disposable rule was enforced to all except those who accompanied reporters – they had access to the roof of the medical building which was fine for the evening firework show. 

First Aid continuously asked questions during the procedure, asking Ratchet to explain something further or to find out why they were doing it a certain way instead of a quicker one. Wheeljack smiled as he watched the two of them, it was impossible not to when Ratchet clearing enjoyed teaching a student who was genuinely interested. 

Ratchet was proud, praising First Aid as the little scanner uploaded the new patches and talked Ratchet through it, just in case he was doing it wrong and needed correcting. A few times, First Aid struggled and Ratchet needed to step in and explain, but for the most part, First Aid was doing well, albeit working slow. The procedure would have taken Ratchet half an hour on his own, but it was the perfect opportunity to teach First Aid about how memory and processor worked together. 

The night shift was being taught by Pulse, and Ratchet's ward was quiet for a change. The few overnight patients were recharging at the back of the room, all disposables who didn't need to be there, but who Ratchet insisted needed overnight monitoring. A night away from their owners would be better medicine than anything he could do himself. 

Playback offlined his optics as his processor slowed, allowing the updates and patches to take effect. It wasn't painful, but it was disconcerting, the world seemed to speed up around him and he gripped Wheeljack's hand tighter. 

“It's ok, PB,” Wheeljack said softly, squeezing the little servo in his own. It wasn't the first time that his adopted mech had been through the procedure, but it never got any easier. Every time he made the same upset, nervous little sound, Wheeljack felt fresh anger towards Osmosis. How anyone could hurt a mech, especially a poor, defenseless little thing, was beyond him. It was a disgrace that they considered themselves a …...... race and yet they still enslaved mechs and took away their rights. 

Like Ratchet, Wheeljack had a strict policy in his lab, the little mechs were treated kindly or they stayed at home. Either way, the little mechs were given time to relax and recover from whatever happened to them when they were alone with their owner. 

“I feel better,” Playback said, sitting up slowly, once the time warp feeling had passed. His moments were slow and sluggish, but it would pass quickly once his processor settled the new updates into place.

“That's good,” First Aid said, bouncing on the berth, “I knew what to do Ratchet, I knew how to fix him!” 

Ratchet smiled, “well done, Aid, you did well. I'll find you some datapads about processor repairs if that's what you want to study next.” 

“Yes, I want to study that so I can fix PB.”

Playback ignored him, the repairs had given him access to fragments of saved memories that had been trapped between memory sections. None were particularly special, nor ones he wanted to remember, but there was one he wanted to keep hold of, one that would help him identify his family when he saw them. “You're Ratchet,” he said proudly, pointing at the medic, “you don't like it when Jack leaves a mess on your desk and but you like it when he brings you energon in the berth.” 

Ratchet chuckled, “that's right. He is very messy.”

Wheeljack tutted and ignored the jab, “can you walk, PB?”

The datamech nodded and, with help, managed to slide off the berth. Holding onto Wheeljack's arm tightly, he took a few staggering steps towards the door. 

“We can go to the fireworks now can't we?” First Aid asked excitedly, running ahead to the door. 

“Don't run ahead, Aid, just in case there are any mechs left here who are walking around,” said Wheeljack, “we don't want you getting in trouble.”

Ratchet connected the alarm system to his personal comm, should anything happen to the mechs in his care, he'd know straight away. He didn't expect problems, the recharging disposable class mechs were always well behaved, but it was best to be prepared for the worst.

They took the elevator as high as it would take them and switched to the stairs for the rest of the journey. The top levels were classrooms and didn't need a public elevator to get to the wards, at night the upper levels were silent and dark. It was a good place for a sneaky interface, Ratchet and Wheeljack had taken advantage of it enough times. 

First Aid charged up the stairs like a rocket and then whined impatiently when the rest of his family failed to keep up and were still a few floors down. “Come on, come on. We're going to miss it.” 

Ratchet shook his head and smiled, “they don't start for another half an hour. We have more than enough time.” 

That still didn't sit well with First Aid who huffed and raced up the remaining stairs. There was no worry about seeing off duty medics or students, the surgery was only working a skeleton crew as most mechs had headed down to the festival, either as first aid mechs or part of the crowd. 

The stairs on the final flight ended abruptly at a heavy metal door that could only be opened with an access code from one of the teaching medics or a maintenance mech. First Aid tried the door anyway and then sulked when he had to wait for Ratchet who was still four floors below him.

First Aid was leaning heavily on the door when Ratchet eventually made it to the top level, he chuckled at the pouting mech and typed in the code, “I told you that sometimes racing ahead doesn't get you what you want any faster than taking it slow.” 

With a scoff, First Aid was gone, out the door like a bullet. He raced across the roof to the far wall, leaning over it to see if he could catch a glimpse of the distant parade. 

The medical building was taller than the others on the Academy grounds and there was no danger of them being overlooked by a mech who'd report them for taking their disposables up. It was too far from the main road to see the parade and the only visible part was the coloured searchlights that strobed across the sky. Music was faint on the air, more of a distant hum with a beat. 

Wheeljack was last out of the building. Somewhere up the stairs he'd stopped to give a piggyback ride to Playback who had struggled to climb the stairs when he couldn't properly coordinate his limbs yet. Doing the procedure before the fireworks wasn't what any of them had wanted, but they had to take the empty medbay when they could. 

“Why don't you go and stand with Aid, PB, you might see something exciting,” Wheeljack said, setting the datamech down and pointing towards First Aid. 

Playback looked between First Aid and Wheeljack a few times, debating leaving leaving the engineer was safe for him or not. His curiosity won out and he ran over to First Aid, who immediately started chattering excitedly about the fireworks the year before.

Between Ratchet and Wheeljack, they had everything they needed for a picnic and it didn't take long to set up. A large blanket spread out on the ground kept them from the cold, dirty metal and was slightly more comfortable to sit on. Some treats and highgrade for themselves and a two cubes of charged energon for Playback and First Aid. Finding something enjoyable for two mechs with no sense of taste had been hard, but Wheeljack had managed to come up with an injectable energon that held a charge comparable to a weak highgrade. Ratchet had thoroughly tested it, not that he didn't trust his mate, but as a medic he wasn't about to let a mech refuel on something that could be bad for them. Especially not their mechs, they were special and Ratchet didn't want to spend a night flushing their lines should something go wrong.

Wheeljack sat beside his mate and leaned over to kiss him deeply. Ratchet revved his engine and pulled the smaller mech close, wrapping him in a hug. Pressed against frames they knew so well, Wheeljack took Ratchet's servo in his own and gently massaged it in a way he knew made Ratchet relax. The medic moaned softly and nuzzled Wheeljack's helm. 

It was cold on the roof and the two little mechs didn't last long. Their armour wasn't thick enough to hold their internal heat and the cold breeze found the gaps in their armour. Playback was the first to crack and darted over to the two larger mechs, wedging himself between them to suck up their heat like a sponge. First Aid joined not a minute later, curling up in Ratchet's lap. 

“How long until the fireworks?” Asked First Aid, staring up at the sky.

“Not long, have some patience. Waiting for something is half the fun and you'll be sad when it's over,” Wheeljack replied.

The waiting wasn't so bad when Ratchet filled First Aid's injector with the charged energon and offered it to him as Wheeljack did Playback's. The little mechs took their injectors and connected them into their fuel tanks. Neither expected the charged energon and it came as a shock as it flooded their fuel lines with a pleasant tingle. 

“What's this?” Playback asked, “I like it.”

“It's something nice for you,” Wheeljack said simply as he took a sip from his highgrade. 

First Aid looked to Ratchet to explain further but Ratchet just chuckled and shook his head. It was annoying not to have an answer and First Aid huffed loudly, about to complain when the first explosion covered the sky in twinkling red and gold sparks. “Finally!” He shouted with excitement. 

The fireworks came in rapid succession, covering the sky in bursts of bright colour against the dark sky. Playback gripped Wheeljack tightly, each boom making him jump, but too mesmerised by the colours and shapes to look away and hide his audials. 

Ratchet wrapped his arms around First Aid and kissed his head, suddenly feeling incredibly proud of his family. No it wasn't a normal family, but it was /his/ family and that made it perfect.


End file.
